MP3 Challenge Take 9
by hevaann
Summary: Another selection of ficlets based on song titles, some Wincest, some Destiel


**MP3 Challenge Take 9: (Supernatural / Glee Songs Edition)**

_Okay, this is the challenge:_

_I set my mp3 on shuffle,_

_Using the title of the song as a prompt I write a drabble_

_I only have the length of the song in question to complete it…_

I don't own the rights to _Supernatural_

**Poker Face **

Sam bit back his lip, trying not to say anything. Things were strained enough between him and Dean right now without pushing his luck. But the look his big brother was giving Castiel was tugging on his gag reflex; it was an expression Dean only used when in the presence of a large free pie.

Castiel, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the fact his charge's eyes were glazed over, his cheeks flushed; that small pink tongue flicking out over his lips momentarily.

The brothers were trying to teach Castiel poker – with varying degrees of success. To begin with the angel, unable to grasp the concept of the game, had been openly frank about his cards. And then finally understanding that concealment was the aim, displayed the best poker face ever witnessed.

After winning five games in a row, the brothers were forced to give up – Sam had been playing appalling anyway owing to the fact he was on edge; anticipating Dean throwing himself over the coffee table and onto the clueless angel.

Any minute now he would have to excuse himself – this was one hand he really didn't want to see.

**Somebody To Love**

Apocalypse Now had come and gone and it had left Dean with nothing but an empty shell of a brother. A damn good hunter maybe, but not the Sammy he had grown up with; adored.

He missed Castiel, missed him so much his bones ached. The angel hadn't surfaced at all in the past year and now he was confronted with the emptiness behind his brother's eyes, he was longing for a familiar face.

Just a sweep of that trench coat, a note of that deep voice. Anything. Something that would make him feel _home_ again.

Without Sammy he was clutching at straws. He needed somebody to love.

And he didn't care what tricks he had to pull to get Cas back down here, but he would. He wanted to covet someone again, to protect and care for. He wanted someone to need him; need him the way Sam once had.

He was stuck between the devil and the angel – and neither would let him in their hearts.

**No Air**

This was getting ridiculous, every time Cas zapped him somewhere it was like he had been punched in the stomach – ripped out at the lungs. He had a perfectly good car for God's sake! It wasn't a DeLorean or anything, but Dean was pretty certain he didn't need to be travelling through time constantly anyway. Wasn't there some paradox principle he kept mucking up?

At least this time Castiel had travelled with him, standing calmly by his side, waiting for Dean to get over this particular spat of humanity.

Ever since the angel had ascended he had become more and more detached, almost finding Dean a nuisance again.

But Dean was not aware that once they had hunted down the demon, Cas would sit at his bed side all night to make sure he was ok.

Dean took his breath away too.

**Alone**

Since first meeting the angel, Dean had never been alone. The phrase 'on his shoulder' had never seemed so real – every time he turned around there Cas was; waiting for him.

In his whole life Dean had never had anyone he could rely on and the prospect was a little daunting – and flattering.

Even when Dean was in no immediate danger, he would just have to whisper Castiel's name and he would be there, whether to research some obscure threat or just play a game of cards and watch Dean drink too many beers. He would come.

He would also come in the middle of the night when Dean called his name in his sleep – he would wrap his arms around the hunter and hold him, safe and sound. His.

**Bust Your Windows**

The Impala was his pride and joy – it had been the one constant in his life. He had pulled it apart and put it together again. For many years it had been the third member of the demon hunting trio.

And then one night, fighting vampires in the back district, someone had taken a crowbar and bust the windows out the car.

Mind you, it was nothing compared to what Dean would have done to the perpetrator had Sam and Cas not been there to pull him back. As it was the vandal only ended up in ER, which was an improvement on the morgue.

Bobby was soon called to tow it back to his yard and Dean literally camped out in it until the windows were replaced, which he buffed and shone continuously for the next month.

If it hadn't been for the fact he couldn't survive without it, the Impala would have been placed behind glass and protected forever. It was quite possibly the biggest crisis in Dean's life – and considering the life in question, that was saying something.

**Jump**

"Jump!"

The instruction had been clear enough and yet Sam had managed to miss it completely and been wacked round the skins by a ridiculously heavy tentacle that belonged to a monster I would rather not describe.

Swiftly electrocuting the beast to death, Dean then rushed over to his brother who was doubled up on the floor.

"Dude, you ok?"

"I think I'm paralysed"

"Well you can keep Bobby company"

"You don't suppose he has a spare wheelchair do you?"

"You are such a drama queen," Dean chastised, pulling Sam to his feet and half carrying, half dragging him back to the car where he draped his little brother over the back seat.

Finally persuading Sam to let him remove his trousers, Dean surveyed his brother's legs – they were already bruising, dark thick clots beneath the surface.

He knew it was going to involve a trip to the hospital, which meant fake IDs and insurance. But anything was better than listening to Sam whine for the next few days. Honestly, there were times Dean wondered if his brother was a man at all.

**Forget You**

It had been a year since Sam had been swallowed by the pit and Dean still having trouble going even five minutes without missing him. No matter what he did, what he took, he couldn't seem to wipe him from his memory.

The way he watched fireworks, the way he used a gun, the way he drove the Impala, Christ even the way he ate a cop salad.

The days were hard enough, but the nights – he would feel Lisa moving beside him and close his eyes to remember the sound of someone else at two am, tossing and turning as he fought off nightmares. The way Sam would still crawl in with his big brother when he woke in a frenzy. The smell, the feel of sweat on Sam's skin. The taste of his salty lips, begging for comfort.

Some memories would haunt him forever.


End file.
